


Redemption (Part 1)

by jackoconnell



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackoconnell/pseuds/jackoconnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>instead of finding Emma hanging from a tree in the middle of a field, Cook finds her unconscious against the trunk, fingerprints around her neck (a somewhat happier ending, somewhat)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption (Part 1)

The rather distressful search brings them to the edge of the woods, an open field covered in snow up ahead. They're both rooted in place. Everything is silent around them — everything in the exception of a crow's cry far in the distance.

An omen, perhaps?

Charlie falls to her knees at the sight, the mixture of dirt and snow underneath her forgotten. They've scrutinized each corner of this part of the woods, the sun having made progress across the clouded sky, and any thought of maintaining a somewhat sanitary appearance had been neglected with time; if they'd had to climb a muddy slope to get to the other side then they did.

Cook's beset by his thoughts, a swirl of dread brewing in the pit of his stomach, and doesn't seem to think about the repercussion of his actions as he approaches the scene, his hands balled up in tight fists at his sides. A thin mist has settled over the eastern hills blanketing the sky and whatever's up ahead in a sheet of gloom, but Cook doesn't miss the outline of Louie's car protruding.

Charlie's soft cries pierce through the eerie silence, in time with the crunching of his boots against the snow, but Cook's hearing is muffled by the blood rushing in his ears and the incessant thumping of his heart. The limp body by the beech tree beckons him over, a familiar pull he doesn't quite understand but doesn't fight either. It seems the further he walks, the further Emma's being taken away from him, the white field stretching in length, leaving him breathless with the effort to beat time.

Emma's slumped against the trunk of the tree, her lips verging a blue tint, her cheeks having lost all colors. Tears rush to gather at the brim of his eyes and Cook kneels before her, holding his finger to her nose. There's a faint exhale. She's alive but barely. "—Fuck!" He's got his jacket around her in a matter of seconds, rubbing away the cold from her body with trembling hands. He begs her to wake up. Wills her body to get up and rejoice with color, but she's slack. "Charlie!" He shouts out of sheer fear, desperation clinging to his voice.

The space around him feels void, but more than that, he can _feel_ the void in his heart. Something he's been good at ignoring. He's gotten so good at pretending. Pretending that nothing got to him —  _mattered_ to him, that the absence of his parents and their love didn't tear him apart, that it didn't hurt when Effy, the only girl he's ever truly loved, didn't love him back, that Freddie's murder still feels somewhat unavenged despite his bloody hands. He's tired of pretending.

And all of a sudden, he's small again. _Vulnerable_. _Alone_. There's no one to look out for him, he's on his own. Forced into a premature adulthood. But he can't bring himself to run away this time. To leave Emma there and take off running in the opposite direction, where there'll be no mention of Emma, Charlie, Jason or Louie ever again. The temptation is there. He can run. He can start over.

 _Start over_.

Doesn't that seem more appealing than... this?

But he pauses. There're fingerprints around Emma's throat, the dents in her skin a striking blue against her pale complexion. No less than a ghastly imagine. A rage fills him then. An indescribable emotion that leaves him itching for blood and bones. Torn flesh, vibrant bruises, _gore_.

Louie.

The name rouses him from his stupor and Cook sees red all over. Charlie's by his side in record time, a mess of sobs and trembling limbs. She's yelling something at him, but he can't hear her. Louie's cunning smile stares back at him and Cook fights to keep a rising revulsion under control. He's _taunting_ him. Louie drove him to the brink of insanity and now waits for Cook himself to jump off the cliff, wittingly, while  _he_ witnesses.

He suspects Louie had taken Emma to lead the wolf (Cook in this case) to the trap knowing the pack (Charlie) would follow, and wonders if in Emma's case the bait had been the promise of her parents.

Cook tries to pry Charlie's hands off him, but she puts up a fight and it's only when he turns toward her, ready to strike her, that he notices something dangling above their heads — a noose. A shiver leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and Cook knows the cold plays no part.

The moment he stepped foot into the field, something sinister had inundated him. _Actually_ , ever since he's met these people, it's been on his heels, within reach, constantly mocking him and the pathetic excuse of a life he's made for himself. Trapping him within borders even his car couldn't reach. But it's here now, wreathing him.

_You're fucking Cook! You'll always be Cook._

An echo of Charlie's words:  _You can't keep running forever._ _You gotta be who you are._ _You're Cook right?_ _So be him._   _Be Cook!_

Who he _is_? There are too many things wrong with who he is. He's killed a man. And killing him at the time had been easy, exhilarating even. But it was what came afterwards that tormented him the most.

The reminder of his sin fucks with his mind on a regular basis; he still sees his face in his head almost every day, flashes of bloody pictures behind his lids. He's in a constant state of paranoia; a lurking presence forever in the premise!!!!!!!!!!!!!.

One might run away from his entourage, but how do you outrun your thoughts? How do you run away from your own mind? Yes, he's Cook but even Cook needs a break from Cook.

Once people tend to get their fix of Cook, they're quick leave, to rid of him. But where does he get to go when there's nothing left to offer? Cook's got no one. And he's afraid the one person who _could_ have potentially cared might not get to see another day.

He steals a quick glance in Emma's direction, her body frail. Brittle. And his face flames. If she dies, how can he live with himself? If killing Dr. Foster, Freddie's murderer, has denied him of his sleep for years, how much damage would killing his girlfriend do? Indirectly or not.

"She needs help, Cook. Cook!" Charlie screams, trying to get her words through to him, but he's as hard as stone.

She's frantic, and even before she sees it happen, she knows it's coming. Cook's fingers, his hands tights, knuckles white, the strain in his muscles. It's all unraveling before her eyes; Cook's steady, determined steps and Louie's finger taunting the trigger. She yells at him. Begs him to stop, to turn around. But since she'd known him, he's only taken orders from one person; Louie.

As she stands there, hysterical, she can't help but feel that this is somehow her fault.

She had seen no harm in climbing into other men's bed if Louie could do it. An eye for an eye.

If she had known how despicable and mental he was, she wouldn't have done the things she's done, especially if someone's life were to be at stake.

But there's no _simply walking out_. It's too late. Louie's obsessed. But despite everything, Charlie has no compunction about sleeping with Cook. The short-lived dalliance awakened a deep-rooted desire. Cook is different. Exciting. Dangerous. Cook is  _mysterious_. And she wants more of him. She wants to occupy the most delirious part of his brain.

Watching Jason drown, or perhaps, be drowned to death by the hands of Rob, Louie's guard, — her guard by default — had shattered whatever protective orb surrounded her. She no longer felt safe. Nor did she feel that Louie's guard had been hers to begin with.

It's painfully quiet. The barrel of his gun is pointed right at Cook. " _Cook-o_ , mate. It's alright, stand there." But Cook stops only when the barrel is digging into the material of his shirt. Louie laughs, a breathy, hearty laugh, but he fails to conceal his nervousness. "Been a couple of hours. I was starting to think Emma here didn't mean as much to you as you been tellin' me." He adds when Cook doesn't react, "Shall we get on with it, then?"

"Ya gonna shoot me, Louie." It isn't so much a question but a statement; an acceptance on his part.

"I suppose," he lifts a shoulder. "I mean, you did make things a little harder for me." Cool. Calm. Collected. "But that's one of the many reasons I wanted you as one of my lads. Straight down the line. No bullshit. You get the job done, Cook. You do." He nods his head, his words emitting raw honesty. "I appreciate you looking out for my lady love. But I never ordered you to take her away from me, did I?" He asks, a dark shadow masked under a misguiding lighthearted nature.

Cook stands there, unblinking.

"Aren't you gonna beg for you life?"

"Nah, mate. Do what you gotta do. But you leave Ems alone." And after a thought. "Charlie, too."

"'Course, 'course. I wouldn't hurt my precious Charlie." He looks at her and Cook can feel a wave of warmth pass between them. But he has a feeling Charlie isn't so much passing as she is receiving. Louie's doing all the passing, and he can't seem to remember the last time he hasn't. "Innit true?" The question is directed at her. "But I'm not too sure about Emma, you see. My fingers felt right at home around her neck."

Cook flinches forward. He thinks about Foster and wonders how long he will see Louie's face, too. Maybe forever.

"Leave him be! It's me you want, innit?" Charlie moves in front of Cook, her hip nudging the barrel of the shotgun, her lips trembling as she forces the words out. Louie loses composure for all of two seconds, her reaction shocking him into silence. Charlie's selfish, has always been. She's an opportunist. Blatantly takes advantage of circumstances, with little to no regard for others. So, to see her wedge herself between Cook and the shotgun comes as betrayal.

She'd been quick to protect him. Put her life on the line for him.

Or is it that she knows Louie won't fire at her?

Something fierce burns in her eyes, but Louie ignores it, afraid of the meaning. Instead he nods.

"Then no more schemes. No more hurting people, ya hear?" She raises a brow, her hand subtly moving back, toward Cook. "You let Cook go. His girl, too." Louie's nodding, a sly smile etching lines around his mouth. But up close, he seems tired, dark circles under his eyes.

"Whatever you want, dear."

He's lying. Cook knows that much. Louie can't trust him anymore, he can't trust _her_ , and trust is rudimental.  _When mistrust comes in, love goes out._ Cook doesn't question Louie's love for his girl, he's never seen anything quite like it. But he knows he'll never truly love her the same.

"Alright." She says, the word drawn out. "And put down the gun for fuck's sake."

He doesn't do it at first. But then Charlie takes two tentative steps, one hand reaching out for the gun, the other still outstretched behind her back toward Cook, out of Louie's line of vision. "It's alright, Louie. I'm yours, remember?" She assures him, her features softening. It takes coaxing, but Louie eventually lowers his gun, the barrel pointed at the ground. It all happens too quickly. One moment, Louie's starting for Charlie as if to hold her, the gun weightless in his hands, and the next, Charlie's pushing Cook back and plunging forward, knocking the gun out of his hands. He tackles her, twisting his fingers in her hair, and pulls hard. She cries out in pain, but focuses on retrieving the weapon a few feet from her left. From her peripheral, she sees movement.

Cook's standing above them, but he's peering down at Louie, his fingers white from holding the gun so tightly. "Let go of her!" He seethes. Almost immediately, Charlie's hair slips from her ex's fingers, and she scrambles to her feet, joining Cook, tears blurring her vision.

"You're breaking my heart, Charlie."

"Shut up!" She hisses.

"Is that a new trend, mate? Picking on girls?" He feels the pressure of the trigger under his finger, and how exhilarating it feels. Just a small push and there'd be an irreparable hole in his head. He can do this. He wants to do this. For Freddie. For Emma and her parents. For Charlie. Even for Jason.

"I wouldn't call it _picking_ on girls, mate. Besides, I did more than just  _pick_ on Emma, didn't I?" He laughs.

In one swift motion, Cook turns the gun in his hands and hits the side of Louie's jaw with the butt of the gun, hard. A trail of blood trickles down his chin, and when he opens his mouth to speak or to laugh, Cook isn't sure, more blood gushes out, staining the white snow. But he doesn't stop there, he jams the shotgun into the side of his head over and over again. There's blood all over the place. Pouring down his head, his face, his neck, his clothes. Everywhere.

Cook's breathing heavily. Something's gripping at him, forcing more anger into him. More anger than probably necessary. "Don't you ever _fucking_ speak her name, got it?"

Charlie tries to speak, but groans instead, holding the side of his head, his hands smearing blood into his hair. But as he watches him, Cook doesn't feel satisfied. That void in his heart only expends. Aches.

Then he understands.

This life, this horror of a life he's been leading is slowly killing him. The constant fighting, the incessant anger, the extreme violence. It's become too much for his heart to handle. But he doesn't quite get it. He's been good these past few months. He's been out of trouble. He's done right by Louie. He's done right by Emma, well most of the time he has.

So why is this feeling hitting him with a newfound force?

Almost as soon as he thinks it, he knows the answer. _Charlie._

"Give me one good reason why he shouldn't blow your brains out?" She spits, but as she says the words, Cook winces. The gun weighs a ton suddenly. And it's heavy. He's unable to keep a firm hold on it, even less put his finger back on the trigger.

Louie's eyes move to Cook who just stands there, unable to pull the trigger.

He's never come to terms with his first murder; he doesn't want to add to it. He wants to purge of the terrible guilt that has haunted him for years now.

"Fuck you're waiting for? Go on! Kill him, Cook!" She shouts in his ear.

Instead, he knocks Louie unconscious with the butt of the gun, turns around and shoots the air, letting out a loud growl. He throws the gun into the distance, hearing it land in the snow with a soft thud. There's a deliverance that comes with it, a feeling of being in control.

He hears her steps before he sees her but Cook doesn't stop her. He watches as she searches for gun, her eyes wild, untamed, and comes back with the weapon. She's aiming at Charlie, her hands trembling, dry tears sticking to her face.

"Think about what you're doing." He says calmly, fingering the material of his jeans.

"Shut up." She yells. "You don't know what he's capable of. You don't know what he's done to me." Fresh tears are streaming down her face.

He's never seen her like this. So vulnerable. So open. And he decides that she's right. He wishes someone had stopped him, warned him of the life he were to lead when his mind was consumed with need to see Forster's blood, but he knows, even now, that his former self wouldn't have listened.

He doesn't say more. He simply flinches when the shot ripples and sends a few birds flying into the air, away from them, away from ruin.

Then he hears the cry of a crow in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun writing this but i'm also super anxious. i hope i gave the show justice and i hope i stayed true to the characters.
> 
> i might have 23874928374 people proofread this before posting ah
> 
> tell me what you think and if i should continue ^_^
> 
> thanks for reading


End file.
